The Virtuous Ward (Sweet Deception Regency #5) (10 page)

"Oh, you are too kind, Max, and I am a beast to treat you to such a display of emotion. It is that I did not know what to do and I was so afraid that I would disappoint you." Honoria gave a wistful smile, then retrieved her hand and placed it primly in her lap atop the other. "Amity is a delight and it is laudable that she has rather, well, strong opinions. I tried to include her in the decisions when we were choosing her wardrobe. Her tastes are quite untutored and I advised her where I could but she would have her way."

Honoria was pleased when Max began to scowl. She knew he was not angry with her and she was very careful to choose her words so that she seemed to be defending Amity when in actual fact she was doing her best to undermine Max's confidence in the girl.

"The ball gown was her idea?"

"She said she had always dreamed of having such a dress," Honoria said, sticking to the actual truth. The stupid girl had never an idea of how the gown would look on her tall figure. "I suggested several other styles but she was not to be moved."

Max could understand now why Amity had looked so miserable. She was such an honest girl that she would have realized she had no one but herself to blame for such an error in judgment. He should have kept a closer eye on her instead of leaving poor Honoria to contend with her impetuousness. Tonight Miss Waterston looked rather tired, perhaps the result of dealing with his rambunctious ward. He would have to talk to Amity about being kinder to Honoria and more grateful for the advice the woman was so eager to give.

"No need to worry your pretty head, my dear. Now that Amity is launched I can assume our trials are almost at an end."

Max stared across the ballroom and watched as his ward once again took the floor. It would seem that she had been a great success this evening. She was dancing with Lord Bancroft Paige, a rather priggish young man but more than suitable. He was possessed of an ancient family name, unblemished with the slightest hint of scandal, and Max had it on good authority that the man was quite plump in the pocket. According to the latest
on dits
, Paige was hanging out for a wife.

"Bancroft looks quite taken with your ward," Honoria purred. "He would be an excellent prospect for the child."

"Perhaps," Max said, his eyes intent on the flashing smile of his ward as she skipped through the pattern of the dance. "I'll admit he is well looking, if she is partial to the Byronic ringlets of his blond hair. He may be a trifle young for Amity. He is only seven and twenty, after all. And of course his sister is a real tartar."

"Ophelia Paige?" she asked in feigned surprise. "Why the child would be lucky to have such a steadying influence in her life. Ophelia would be more than happy to advise Amity."

Max snorted at the possibility of the dowdy woman giving Amity anything but harsh criticism. He had heard her speak in disparaging tones of the light-minded females who tried to ensnare her brother.

"You do intend to marry off the child?"

Honoria's abrupt question jolted Max from his reverie and he spoke more sharply than usual, his words hearty to be more convincing. "But of course, my dear. That is the purpose of this evening after all. It is my dearest wish."

"And mine also," Honoria said.

Her tone was low and the throaty quality surprised Max. When he glanced down at her there was a definite invitation in her eyes which he had not seen before. It was not that she was cold but there was a certain aloofness about her that had always intrigued him. He felt guilty that he had not taken the time to mention his intentions to her, but, no matter her willingness to accept his suit, this was not the proper time for a declaration.

"By the looks on the faces of several gentlemen here, I suspect there will be no absence of offers for my ward."

At his jocular tone an expression of dismay touched Honoria's face; she had expected to hear other words from his lips. Max patted her hand but noting the petulantly pursed lips that would augur no good for the remainder of the evening, he added, "Give me a smile, my dear. Once Amity is settled I will have time and occasion to consider my own future."

Chapter Six

The late morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Amity's bedroom windows. She lay still, arms behind her head and smiled at the beautiful day. Contentment filled her as she remembered the magic of the ball the night before. Thanks to Max the evening had been a total success; she was well launched in society.

For the first time since she had arrived in London she felt like herself. She had been so caught up in the excitement of all the new experiences that she had lost sight of the person she was. For the last several weeks she had been dominated by Honoria's personality and had tried to be someone she was not. She had resolved yesterday that she would take charge of her own life and see if she might make better use of her life. She had been living an artificial existence, letting others guide her and not being guided by what she knew was her own character and style. Perhaps her mistake had been in wanting so much to be approved of by both Max and Honoria that she allowed herself to be manipulated.

In her two weeks in London she had observed the cynical, jaded manner of the elegant fashionable set and hated the thought of presenting such a picture of boredom. She felt a true excitement with life and did not want to lose that feeling. She suspected that Max was correct in that she must behave in a more ladylike manner but she recognized that much of what her guardian criticized was basic to her character. She was impetuous by nature, prone to great bursts of enthusiasm and joy. It bothered her that in order to be acceptable she would have to adopt a superficiality that went against the grain. Much as she wanted to please Max, there must be some compromise she could work out to be both acceptable and herself.

Thus contented for the moment, Amity pushed herself up in the center of the bed and stretched her arms over her head in a satisfying stretch. She smiled at Muffin curled up at the foot of the bed. Every night when she went to sleep the dog was nestled on the rug by the fireplace, but when she woke in the morning he was snoring on the comforter. Now ready to start the day, she prodded Muffin with her toes.

"What a lazybones you are," she said.

Muffin opened one eye and viewed her with disfavor but Amity was impervious to censure. Throwing back the covers, she crawled to the foot of the bed, throwing her arms around the dog and hugging him. After a smothered snort of disdain, he favored her with a wet lick on the cheek and as she scratched between his ears, he emitted a low growl of contentment.

"Bout time you're moving," Betta said, peeking around the opened door of the dressing room. "I was just about to come and see iffen you had taken up the ways of the fashionable set and were plannin' to sleep until afternoon."

"I should have known better than to hire an uppity servant," Amity said, grinning at the young girl. She bounded off the bed, sticking her nose in the air in great hauteur. Her pose was ruined somewhat when she bumped into a small table and stubbed her toe but she tried to keep her face serious despite the giggles issuing from her abigail.

"Me mum would say that was the Good Lord's justice for being uncharitable to underlings."

"Besides it is extremely uncomfortable," Amity said, wriggling the toes on her injured foot. "It's not easy being elegant, you know."

While Betta whisked around the room, Amity dressed, asking the girl how she liked her new position. She was enthusiastic over her reception by the other servants. Betta had been apprehensive that the replaced Emily would be angry over her arrival but after talking to the parlor maid was assured that she was welcome. Amity's assessment of Emily and the footman's interest in each other had been correct. Betta described the mooning looks the two servants had exchanged much to Amity's entertainment.

After dressing Amity hurried downstairs to breakfast where Max was just finishing. Her guardian greeted her with congratulations for her successful debut.

"Lady Jersey has agreed to send you a voucher to Almack's," he announced, casting his eyes up to the ceiling and heaving a long sigh. "Now I shall be squiring you to the most boring of functions."

"Tis treasonous to speak such words," Amity said, shaking her head at her guardian's pose. "I am in high alt to have received such an honor. Can't you tell by my serious demeanor?"

Max's eyes twinkled across the breakfast table. "It has occurred to me that you desire to cozen me by such behavior. Your eyes tell another story. Behind the sparkling color, mischief is apparent, just waiting to burst forth."

"La, sir, you malign me." Amity pouted, her face pulled into an expression of demure innocence.

"Baggage!"

On that happy note they exchanged smiles and began to talk of the evening past. Max informed her that bouquets of flowers and engraved invitations had arrived while she slept, proof positive of her acceptance. He asked her plans for the day and, when she told him she must visit Madame Bertoldi for final fittings on her wardrobe, offered the carriage. He debated telling her of his discussion with Honoria concerning the ball gown but could not bear to criticize her in the face of her happiness. Time enough to discuss her stubborn refusal of Honoria's well-meant advice. As she blew him a kiss and scampered from the room, he returned to his coffee, surprised that he found little joy in the empty room now that the girl was gone. It was almost as if she had taken the sunshine with her when she left.

Collecting Betta and her bonnet and pelisse, Amity set off for the establishment of the modiste, Madame Bertoldi. When she arrived, she dismissed the carriage and entered the shop. She discovered the plump little woman lecturing a clerk over the placement of a particular bolt of fabric. Amity smiled at the darting hand gestures and flashing black eyes of the formidable Madame. When the woman became aware of her presence, a hint of wariness in the little Frenchwoman's eyes told Amity all that she needed to know about the wardrobe being prepared for her. The woman patted down her dress and tucked a greying strand of black hair into her disordered bun and crossed the floor. Amity felt sorry for the woman who had been caught between Honoria and an unknown customer and set out to allay the seamstress' fears.

"Madame, a moment of your time." Amity pitched her voice low so as not to be overheard by the curious assistants who hovered beyond the woman. "I have come to you to apologize for my foolishness?"

The woman blinked several times, thrown off balance by the young lady's words. "A-apologize?" she stammered.

Leaning forward as though confessing a shameful secret, Amity continued, "I have been very stupid, Madame. In my excitement over choosing my own garments, I have not listened to the voice of experience in my dealings with you. It is only now that I realize I should have spoken to you earlier but I am hoping that you will find it in your heart to forgive my youthful ignorance."

The sharp black eyes searched Amity's face and her perception of the situation was immediate. "It is the wardrobe,
n'est pas
?"

"Yes, Madame. I fear that it will not do." She placed her hand on the agitated woman's arm, keeping her tone firm to command her attention. "The bills I have incurred will be paid regardless. It is the realization that perhaps I might convince you to give me the benefit of your knowledge in striving for a more sophisticated look that has brought me to you today."

Once the practical Frenchwoman realized she would lose nothing financialy, she capitulated In moments Amity was ensconced in her private sitting room with a cup of hot chocolate and a smiling Madame hovering over her. Assistants scurried about the room, laying out the nearly completed wardrobe on all the surfaces of the furniture. Looking at the dresses with a more objective eye, Amity had to admire the cleverness of Honoria. Each outfit was beautiful in itself but each one had one feature that made it unsuitable for Amity. In some cases the color of the dress washed out her own natural complexion, giving her a ghostlike quality. In others the style of the dress was inappropriate or the trim clashed with her red hair.

"What a waste," Amity muttered.

"
C'est vrai
," Madame responded over her shoulder.

Turning to the woman, Amity smiled. "My thought, Madame, is that with your help we can decide which of the outfits are totally unsuitable and which others we can, shall we say, modify."

"
Eh bien
." The woman's voice was brisk with decision. "Please to sit down while I consider."

Amity subsided against the back of the cushioned chair and watched as the little woman bustled around the room. Her wrinkled face was pinched in concentration and her mouth was pursed in a moue of distaste as she viewed each garment. She glanced at Amity, her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed in study, then with a nod of her head she would return to an inspection of the offending article. Amity winked at Betta who sat on the edge of her chair and the girl relaxed, grinning in return.

To Madame's credit, once she had decided to involve herself she spared neither herself, her assistants nor Amity. Each garment was tried on under the piercing eye of the modiste. Soon the room was littered with bolts of fabric, cards of trim and other accessories. By unspoken agreement neither Madame nor Amity mentioned Honoria's name, although the deceitful blond was on both of their minds. At the end of several hours, everything had been decided to everyone's satisfaction. The dresses that were deemed unsuitable had been given to the wide-eyed Betta, to remake for herself, with others chosen to replace the missing items. The remainder would be altered and both Amity and Madame agreed they would be the first stare of fashion.

"I feel very much relieved, Betta," Amity said as they exited the shop. "And it's a fine day for a walk."

"Can't say as I'll mind," the practical abigail said as she sniffed the air. "That Madame uses a powerful lot of scent. Must be because she's a foreigner. Wouldn't like to work for her. She's a regular tartar the way she snaps out orders and stares down her nose at all those little assistants."